Friend and Foe
by eternalite
Summary: Once a week, Alvern and his flygon familiar Lindriona relieve stress and determine dominance through a friendly competition. This time, a particularly empty duel between the two during a special time of the year leaves a lot more to be desired. And a lot more to be uncovered.


Chapter One

Again

* * *

><p>"You deal with the demon. I'll handle the human!"<p>

"Got it!"

The boy charged forward, iron sword in his right hand trailing behind him. Sword and aura-enhanced claws met with a clash in the middle of the vale, echoing towards the mountains that surrounded the battlefield. The two foes locked glares. The boy shoved forward, and the demon shoved back. Metal scraped against energy with a horrid screech.

It withdrew from the stalemate, and lunged forward. A left claw was swung horizontally at him. He moved his sword to a vertical position and braced against it with both hands. The claws struck the iron with a loud ping, the excessive force making it continue to the left of him. His feet slid against the ground slightly, but he remained upright like a pillar.

_Now!_

He retreated his sword and advanced forward with it to stab. Its body twisted as it continued the wasteful motion. Just before his sword could connect with the beast's body, a long mass from underneath his vision severed the connection between his feet and the ground. He fell back-first on the bed of grass beneath him with a loud thud, slightly disorientated.

_Its tail?!_

His weapon didn't follow him. The wild hand movements from his fall made it leap into the air. It plunged itself a few meters away from him into the ground.

A few meters _too_ far.

He brought a hand to the ground to to push himself up. The monster didn't allow it. It pounced on him. Clawed feet assailed his legs and paws surged for his shoulders. No less than six barbs simultaneously entered his body. Warm liquid escaped through each entrypoint, dotting the shoulderpads of his cloth armor with crimson. The boy scowled and his heart raced.

The beast let out a victorious roar and moved its maw forward, towards his head.

_Not… happening…!_

Unknownst to it, however, he was readying a spell. Pangs of pain from his shoulder threatened to break his concentration, stopped only by sheer willpower. The desire to just stop casting and physically tend to his condition grew, but he resisted the urge. Just one shock, and Alastrina's Unwavering Wind would be no more.

And Cygnus would be united under Alastor's rule.

The two glared at each other again.

_Good, it's distracted_.

Below, near his torso, his two hands stood opposed to one another on each side of him, just out of view of the beast. He mentally focused on the area. An orb of energy formed and bounded slowly between both hands, accelerating until all that were visible were white strands. It began to mutate, soon crackling with a very noticeable light and moving less predictably.

It looked downwards.

He broke his stance and the conjured sphere disjointed with a blinding flash.

A white jagged line of energy arced from where the orb once was into the monster's head with a deafening crackle. It stopped moving. He breathed a sigh of relief and his hands moved towards the dragon's paws. Those daggers still had to come out. He gritted his teeth and tore at them, but they remained embedded within him.

_F—friction?! No, they slid in easily. Rigor mortis, maybe? Doesn't that take like twelve hours_? _What if the electricity speeds up the process? I don't think it works like that._

He heard another breath, but it didn't come from him.

It came from the monster.

_What the fuck?!_

Without hesitation, its maw rushed at him. He tilted his head away, but it wasn't the target. It went for his right shoulder instead. Two fangs sunk into it. A strange numbness emanated from the twined wounds, flooding into the rest of his body. He couldn't feel his right arm anymore. Shapes began to appear randomly in his vision, accompanying the ringing in his ears from the loud bang before. He took slow and shallow breaths—not by choice.

_Did I miss?_ _No... I know it—it definitely hit!_

Additional pressure came from its jaws and dozens of its smaller razor teeth pierced into his skin, pushing against his shoulder blade. It felt as if he was being stabbed with magma. The pressure began to increase, and he felt his bones begin to contort. His legs tried to move for a strategic kick, but he couldn't move them. Its weight kept him down.

_How can something that can fly be __**so**__ heavy?_

He cleared his mind of the agony. His hands moved towards the beast's neck. _I'll shove it off then!_ he thought. The numbness kept his motion to a creep. He winced as the beast buried its needles completely within him. Before his hands could reach the dragon, it jerked its head upwards, jaws still clenched around his shoulder.

_No… no… nonono..._

The rest of his body would have followed, but the monster's paws kept him lined with the earth. It pulled harder and harder until a revolting crack resonated through his body. His sensations lied to him, and he felt nothing from the trauma.

He would have convulsed had the monster not kept him pinned to the ground. His right arm fell, thankfully still attached to him, but it only obeyed gravity now. The beast let out another roar from its bloodied maw, directly at him. Drops of his own lifeblood flew at his face, forcing his eyes shut. He felt its weight shift to his left. It wasn't satisfied with just half his arms being disabled.

_Could this get any worse...?_

The sensation in his right arm returned.

"Aaaah!"

Alvern woke up, screaming into his dark bedroom. He would have flung himself upright, but something was wrapped around his chest. The bed strangely felt different from when he last dozed off on it. It felt more smooth, and slightly curved. Something thumped lightly against his back as well.

_Ow…_ His right shoulder was burning.

He held his breath as his left hand reached over to touch his right shoulder. He rubbed it to snuff out the invisible flames. The needling and burning feelings on it soon vanished, just like his earlier hallucination. The bed under him somehow began to shift, as if it were alive. He would have panicked had he not been so _damn_ exhausted.

A breath escaped his lungs.

"Bad dream, Alvy?" a voice came from underneath him.

"Something like that..." he responded, mid-yawn. His eyes closed slowly, before sharply opening again. He looked closer at the thing on his chest. _A green arm. No wait, make that two green arms. _He brought his hand towards where he heard the voice come from. A fuzzy antenna brushed against it.

_She's underneath me…?_

"Linda, _what _did I say about sleeping in my bed?"

"But it's cold and dark down there. And a bit lonely..." she replied with a hint of pouting. His familiar would usually sleep on the rug on the fifth floor, which was beneath the bedroom.

He ignored his fatigue. His hands gripped around her wrists. The desire to just give up and fall asleep was strong. It wasn't even uncomfortable having her underneath. He just wanted her out more because of the _implication_. A human and a monster sleeping together usually meant something else. Something he'd rather not brood on for the sake of remaining pure, in _their_ eyes.

The Summoning Council, in their infinite wisdom, was both for coexistence, and against this something.

"Separate but equal," they told him. Bullshit.

He pulled and pulled at her bindings.

Linda answered by tightening her arms around him. He tried to squirm against it, but every inch of freedom he'd create was quickly reclaimed by her. A few more struggles and all he was rewarded with was fatigue stacked on top of his current fatigue. His writhing became weak, but her wraps remained the same.

He was getting nowhere.

And lazier by the second.

_Might as well make myself comfortable, I guess_…

Alvern shifted a bit to ease the pressure on some parts of his body. Her carapace somehow managed to be hard enough to deflect most blows in combat, yet soft enough so that he could lay on it without any complaints. It could be argued that at some times it was _more_ comfortable than the bed.

And those _wings _of hers. It felt immoral to be touching them at times.

Alvern yawned. _I really should stop pondering things_… He sighed and cleared the thought out of his mind. With Linda's tuneful heartbeats behind him, his eyes closed slowly and he slumbered again. He'd need all the energy—and luck he could get for what was to transpire tomorrow.

Their duel.

… … …

He woke up as he would have any other day. The sun shone in from one of the room's windows. Linda still snoozed below him. He never really understood why she actually slept. Summoning familiars were technically _dead_—they didn't have to eat, sleep, or do anything a normal being would have to do to exist. For whatever reason, Linda would still perform all these tasks, as if she were still alive.

_Maybe she just enjoys the sensations_. Eating food and sleeping felt good, after all.

Alvern completed his morning ritual and returned to his bedroom. Linda still slept, or at least, appeared to do so. Her red lenses made it hard to tell. Sometimes she'd pretend to nap and pounce on him for a good laugh, for her at least. He moved closer to her face for a closer inspection. Her eyes were closed. A little bit down, her mouth was slightly open, revealing her fangs. Her forked tongue lolled out slightly.

_She looks kinda cute when she sleeps_. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. The apex predator of the desert, capable of tearing a man to shreds, also looked adorable in its slumber.

A_nd maybe, even..._

_No! Bad thoughts! Bad thoughts!_ his conscience reminded him. Bad thoughts would lead to bad actions. And bad actions would lead to his removal from the Council.

And then they'd be poor.

_In fact, __**why**__ are you even watching her sleep? If you did this to any human they'd probably slap you_.

_Linda isn't a human though. And I'm sure she doesn't know about this, so..._

_Just get on with getting ready for your duel, you degenerate_.

... ... ...

The coliseum stood in the west wing of Klostrun. Each row became smaller and smaller as the seats neared the center of the amphitheater—the arena. It was unusually pleasant at this time of day. The sweltering sun was obscured by the clouds above. Occasionally a gust of wind would enter the dusty battlefield below, kicking up grains into the seats.

A flygon stood in the center of the combat zone, tapping her foot against the hard tile that covered it. In her paw was half a loaf of spiced bread—the other half already breaking down in her stomach. She then scarfed the other half down.

"I'm just here to keep score while you two fight, right?" Marcus spoke with fear.

"That is corre—"

"Are you two _done_ flirting with each other?!" Linda shouted from below. She stomped a foot on the ground. Her arms crossed. By now, an indent was beginning to form below where her clawed feet made contact with the ground.

Alvern turned around, taking off his white cloak that had shielded him earlier from the desert heat. Both of his hands wrapped around an imagined object as he closed his eyes to cast a spell. A mental whisper of an unknown incantation, and a translucent sky-blue sword appeared in his grip. White waves of energy shimmered on its surface.

He strolled towards the inner circle. Upon reaching the edge that turned spectator to combatant, he lept off of it, landing in the arena with a thud. He stood up and walked opposite to Linda, swinging his sword in the air a few times for practice. The flygon brought a paw to her mouth, trying not to giggle at the sight.

"Ready to give me my forty-eighth win, Alvy?" she teased. Her tail swished back and forth. Light danced off of a tiny human-sized silver ring at the end of it. Two tailfans kept the memento from the past from sliding off.

He didn't respond, and gripped the sword with the same fortitude as he did before. His head looked around the arena a few times. At the same time, he carefully brought a finger to his blade to test its sharpness, running it from hilt to tip.

_Yep, same as always._

_Probably since conjured swords don't get dull, you dummy._

He looked back up, prepared to react to Linda's movements. For some reason, she was a lot larger than before. His mind quickly corrected the error in judgement.

She had snuck up on him in his time of contemplation.

Before he could even react, she leaned forward. Two powerful green arms reached forward, moving under his arms. The paws connected from behind, pressing just lightly enough against his cloth armor to not draw pain. In a swift upward motion, she lifted him up. He stared into her neck. Alvern mumbled incoherent words, dumbfounded over Linda's effortless conquest over him. His heart thumped hard in his chest.

She began to hum.

_How does she do it?_ Alvern pondered, dazzled by her silent moves. His sword was still clutched by his right hand, pointing towards the ground. Fear and nervousness kept its position from transforming.

A purple forked tongue of seemingly infinite length launched forward at him, swiping the tip of his nose. The cold wetness snapped him out of his trance. He shook his head. His eyes focused on the purple organ. It retracted back into her toothy cavern with a slurp. He looked closer at her smile. Two venomous daggers protruded slightly from the friendly entrance.

Figuring to look more upwards, Alvern stared into into Linda's eyes—or rather, her crimson lenses for an explanation over her strange victory ritual. Behind those fluid-filled red globes were a set of azure eyes, as he had seen many times before close up.

No one else knew of their color besides Alvern, and her _beloved_—Linda's deceased companion from long ago. The exclusiveness was bounded in fear: one had to be inches away from her face to see her eyes through the red. On brighter days, one would have to get even closer—pressed up against the lens to view their hidden complexion. Most, like Marcus, wouldn't have dared to get _that_ close to Linda's maw.

They'd also violate her personal space. Which was a _very _bad idea.

Linda's arms pulled him towards her, closing the distance between their bodies. Alvern's head was pushed just under hers, which began to squeeze down from above. The rest of his body was pressed by her paws into her cold chitinous chest. Two hearts pulsed against his one. Smothered by her neck, his head turned sideways away from it.

_A hug…?_

"Hey! What gives?"

"Just reminding you that we can be worst enemies in the arena and best friends outside of it," she explained. Her grip on him increased. "You _really_ ought to not hold back against me this time."

The match had yet to start.

"Of course!" Alvern spoke with a hint of worry. A clang sounded from his sword hitting the ground as he surrendered it to gravity. His arms wrapped around Linda's neck as he returned the tender gesture. She would sneak a hug or nuzzle him once in a while, but today, she was oddly more affectionate than usual.

Beneath his calm words, his heart continued to strike against his chest.

"Huh?" Linda loosened her hug on him. She had a confused look as she pulled him away from her.

The antennae on top of her head rubbed against each other once before stopping, and she lifted Alvern up even higher, so that his head was of equal height to hers. Her lips were curled as she focused on his eyes for a while. His eyes stared back for a second before looking away. It felt too strange. Her head looked down as it moved down to his chest. It then pushed forward. Her fuzzy feelers compressed a little on contact with his body as they moved around to detect his pulse. The sensors stopped moving. They pushed on the leftish-center of his rib cage.

"Alvy, why is your heart rate so high?"

"I thought the match already started, and you… Well… you..." Alvern answered. "...you would have won, if that was the case."

He didn't bother to lie. Linda could sense it.

"But I hug you before _every _match!" she whined. Her arms lowered him back on the ground, crossing over her chest. "_Since_ you want to start so badly, so be it." She leaned down. Her tongue swiped at his face again, aiming for his cheek. He quickly wiped the wet marking off, earning him a glare from her.

Alvern remained silent as the two stared at each other down. It was clear who won the mental battle. Beneath his calm demeanor, he felt strangeness from her act of friendship, as he usually did from their pre-duel ritual. Soon, the two would turn on each other and relinquish such cordial bonds. Even though it was temporary, it still felt awkward to fight against a good friend, at least, for him.

Linda couldn't have cared less about such ties in a sparring match, severing them without an afterthought. Or so it seemed. She was always hard to read.

However, Alvern was glass.

The irony of it all was that Linda was the one who had to hold back against him, lest a mortal blow end both their lives forever. She was all the merrier to give him some restraint, but even with said mercy, she still could win decisively. On the other hand, _he_ had the opportunity to duel her with _no_ restraint. If she were to fall, a hasty trip to the obelisk in Eternity would bring her back from the land of the dead with no tragedy.

Something in his mind kept him from unleashing his full power against her, as he would to a true foe. Alvern attributed it to their strong bonds of friendship.

_Even without the thought of death plaguing my mind, I still can't win against her_. he conceded. He wouldn't let her know this, though. Linda had enough to boast about. Although, based on her bragging, she probably already knew. But maybe today would be the day she would make a crucial mistake in combat.

And he would emerge victorious.

Linda turned around. In a last act of defiance, she brought her tail up just enough so her tailfans would glide over his face, making him jump backward and further question his ability to react to her movements.

Her brood's characteristic four wings flapped into a blur, and she hovered off the ground. Another flap of her airfoils, and she sped back to her original place, sending tiny debris everywhere. Alvern shielded his eyes, making sure to open them at the next possible instance to see the secret. She lowered herself to the ground, landing on the tips of her clawed feet first. Meanwhile, her wings made a shy flutter just before the impact, silencing the landing noise.

_So that's how she does it_.

He bent down and picked his sword up, ready for combat. He was focused on Linda, making sure she wouldn't sneak up on him again. The winds blowed some more, kicking up more grains into the air. Alvern refused to shut his eyes. Blindness led to hesitation, which led to defeat.

"Marco, throw the rock!" she shouted at the stands.

"My _name_ is—Oh,_ forget_ it!" Marcus responded. A small, but visible pebble flew into the arena from above, hitting the ground with a crack and splitting into two.

"Linda, this is the _last_ time you make fun of me for losing to you!" Alvern swaggered, trying to fight bravado with bravado. He began to push towards her, sword acute with the ground.

"We'll see about that!" Linda shot back. In a flashy display, she brought both her arms slightly behind her. Blue aura surged out of both her paws, blowing grains of sand out of the arena from behind her. The energy augmented the claws on both of them with a lethal sheath. She then brought both of her natural weapons in front of her, ready to respond to Alvern's aggression with her own.

Alvern neared her, locking eyes with her. With a spring in his step, Alvern leapt off the ground to an impressive height. His sword was raised above his head, left holding it tighter than his right.

A vertical cut.

...

Linda continued the stare-off. With extraordinary speed, her claws locked with each other in front of her in the path of the blade. She shifted her left foot backwards, scraping against the ground, primed to push forward and set him off-balance upon contact.

_A head on attack, really? _She smirked.

But contact never came.

The portion of the sword's edge that would have made contact with her energized claw flickered. At that time, almost in rebellion with reality, the sharp edge phased right through her empowered defense. It continued its path downward. A stinging pain went through her as the tip of the sword nicked her chest, creating a gash all the way down to her belly. The sword then exited the wound, now in full retreat by its wielder's command.

_Looks like Alvy has some new tricks up his sleeve_. _Shame he's still gonna lose._

She looked at her wound.

It had been a while since she had been injured. An even longer while since Alvern had done it to her in a duel, with her last trauma resulting from her own accord. Shock ending, the pain began to flow into her. Her eyes widened, with her knowledge that he would never know of her surprise through her impossible-to-see-through lenses.

_Hmm… I wonder if I should recoil from this._

Hypothermia, vivisection, and cranial impalement were a few of the maladies she'd experienced through her increasing years of pseudo-immortality. It wasn't as if she'd been desensitized to the unpleasant feeling. Wounds still hurt just as unpleasantly as ever. But through the decade, physical pain had lost its association with permanent bodily damage and death. It was just like any other sensation: she could just cast it away and it'd be gone.

_Nah, Alvy's seen enough already. I mean, the wound isn't even __**that**__ big. It'd be nice to keep that unbeatable image I have going._

In a burst of speed, Linda's arm thrusted forward, threatening to skewer Alvern thrice. As she expected, he disengaged about five meters away from her aggressive move.

His reaction would have one to believe that he was the one injured, not her.

Linda saw it all. The swordsman's blade jittered around as his hands shook in revulsion at the sight. Cobalt ichor from the cut flowed downwards, running down her leg. The air was thick with the scent of iron. A pool had formed on the ground, growing larger with time's advance. Her state sickened him. He grimaced, bringing a hand to clutch at his own chest, as if he were wounded.

_He's holding back again. Better inspire him._

"You'll pay for that!" she assured him.

_My turn_. Her left paw moved down to the cleft, taking some time to coat its claws in some of her vital liquid. She rushed forward at Alvern, who was still dumbfounded by his own actions. Blood continued to flow out of her wound, leaving a trail behind her. By instinct, he raised his sword up diagonally, prepared to parry any strikes headed his way. She continued the aggression. The dragoness brought her right paw forward, the energy extending it by a few feet. Her summoner's eyes grew as he braced himself for the impact. His eyes locked on her right claws, ready to react.

_How cute, he thinks he's gonna get a parry off_. She grinned.

A quick flick of her left wrist at a distracted Alvern sent a few globules at his eyes. Upon contact, the droplets split into fragments. His eyes shut to shield them from the saline foreign matter, stance faltering as one of his hands flew towards his face in a panic, trying to remove the temporary blindness. In complete disarray, his sword dropped to the ground, both hands now clawing at the liquid that covered his eyes. He turned, running in the opposite direction at full speed.

Linda could sense it all: fear, dread, and helplessness. She was the predator here, and Alvern was the prey. Happy to know that her summoner knew his place, the flygon raced after him, making sure to make as much noise as possible to encourage his flight. She savored the little performance as she chased him.

He stopped against the wall and turned around. His eyes were open again.

Linda pounced at him with a giggle.

...

Alvern saw terror.

Everything turned slow. Linda was lunging at him, both claws in front, ready to go in for the kill. In perfect judgement, he brought his hands together and closed his eyes. He was in the center of the arena now. The loud sound of carapace hitting stone walls permeated the stadium. A large crevice was formed from where Linda's attack would have connected with him. Dust flew into the air, obscuring the area of impact.

Alvern picked up his sword. He wouldn't fall for her tricks. He prepared his stance again, raising his sword up. His feet planted on the ground as his eyes scanned through the debris, looking for a shape.

Nothing was there.

Alvern's heart raced, desperately trying to make sure each body part had the power it needed to counter his adversary's timeless attacks. _A sneak attack?!_ He looked around, rotating in a circle. The wasted movement earned him a good look of the arena, but no view of Linda. He then looked to the skies, earning him yet _again_ no view of the green insect. Below him, the ground began to rumble.

_Beneath?!_

With a quick thought, Alvern picked up his feet and sprinted away from the epicenter. The right foot moved, but something snagged his left. He felt a piercing pain accompanied by a warm liquid soaking into his boots. He looked down. A green paw had grabbed his left foot. Its claws dug into the leather and his flesh to prevent escape. The pain intensified, threatening to break his foot if he didn't act quick.

"Number two of two!" he heard her triumphantly shout from underground.

He had to use _it_ again.

It went like this most of the time, with Linda trying to use up one of the few magic spells that their incompatibilities hadn't erased from him: short-distance teleportation. Despite its name, it was more like a flash of speed. A flash of speed that strained every fast twitch in his body to do. It also blinded him, the rush of air not being very friendly to his exposed eyes.

With an enormous expenditure of energy, he could indeed emulate her talent and re-position himself. Linda, of course, with her limitless stamina, could do this burst infinitely more times than him—even being able to attack with it, with her natural goggles acting as a barrier to the wind.

Luckily for him, Linda's speed-enhanced attacks would convert their recipient into a mist of whatever color their blood happened to be, so it wasn't something she would just use on him in sparring. _Friends don't turn friends into liquids_, she reminded him once before.

With his practice, he could now get three casts of the spell in, with the fourth causing immense mental and physical exhaustion. To his advantage, Linda didn't know that he had recently upped the limit on his error-correction spell.

He wouldn't waste this trump card.

Alvern teleported a few meters away from the grapple. Half a breath was sucked into his lungs before the ground exploded under him again, sending chunks of sandy debris into the air. Linda ascended from the hole into the air, now flying. Her ambush knocked him up into the air diagonally. He recovered from the ambush, flipping and landing on the ground. The horizontal part of the attack caused him to slide on the tile a little ways backwards. His arms flew around him, trying to make sure he didn't fall.

Without hesitation, Linda angled her wings and dove at him. Both of her claws were extended outwards, surrounded by aura. Alvern glanced at her left claw. It was now caked in a purple mix of two ichors. The liquid from her wound also didn't run as freely as before either, which made the threat of another feint unlikely.

_My arms would probably break if I tried to parry that._ He got ready to dodge.

She was now close enough to strike. Alvern sidestepped to the left, continuing to face her. It was just far enough to dodge the attack, but just close enough to be in range to counterattack. Strangely, Linda didn't stop after missing. If she'd continued the dive now, she'd collide with the arena wall.

_She put all of it into_**_ that_**_ attack? This isn't like her_. _Wait a minute, I can win here! _

Time slowed in his mind again. Linda was still in her diving motion, claws extended, perpendicular to him. He readied his sword again, pulling it backwards for a thrust. With his left hand pushing at the base of the sword, he lunged the blade forward at her side, intending on running it through one of her hearts to weaken her. He felt resistance as the tip touched her carapace. Another push from his arms would finish the attack.

An imaginary spear poked at his own side in roughly the same place.

_Can I really do this...? _

Thoughts of camaraderie and sparring clashed in his mind. He'd never actually struck a blow this devastating on a friend before. It would probably hurt her good too. He could see it: Linda in pain, clutching her side and screaming vulgarities at his brutality. Her expression would be empty, with tears seeping out of her lenses from the agony. She would then turn around, and fly away forever, bonds severed by his hand.

_Nah, she wouldn't do that._

He shook the thought out of his head. She'd at most try to get back at him in some petty way in the near future.

Linda didn't give him any more time to contemplate his morality. A large weighty object from the left of his vision blindsided him. The strike impacted his side, knocking the wind out of him. Only then did Linda stop her dive.

He was sent flying backwards at an incredible speed. He only then deduced that the object was her tail. His own flight ended with a crash as his back slammed into the arena wall, and another he slammed into the ground. His back and front screamed with pain, and his vision was unfocused. He stood up, hoping Linda wouldn't sense his trauma. By reflex, he gripped his sword again.

But he only felt his palm.

Two blurry flygon appeared a good distance in front of him. He shook his head and looked again. Linda held a familiar spectral sword in her own paw, mockingly swinging it a few times in the air in the same way he did before the battle. After her display, she brought the hilt to her mouth. A lengthy forked tongue wrapped around the base of the sword, carefully running it to the tip before backing into her mouth. The blade glistened with her saliva as she marked the weapon as hers.

"Looking for _this_, Alvy?" Linda teased, waving the sword at him. A few droplets fell to the ground.

"Joke's on you, Linda, I can conjure _another_!" A closing of his eyes and a conjuring thought brought a translucent iron sword into his hands. Inside, Alvern nervously quaked. Ever since he'd obtained the sword that Linda was now holding, he'd let off on practicing with his old one. Not that practice was the issue. Iron was inferior to gravite in every way.

"For me to _dual-wield_? How nice of you!" Linda smiled.

The sword was handed off to her left paw as her right began to form the energy sheath again. Sword and claw readied, she walked towards Alvern again, exponentially transitioning into a sprint. He mirrored her motions minus the claw. His sword trailed behind him in his left, ready to be flung forward. A quick flick of the elbow brought his sword flowing towards her side. Linda brought her empowered right claw towards the blade to intercept it. Her left sworded arm pulled back.

The edge of his sword flickered, phasing through her defense, but she had somehow stepped back in that infinitesimal interval of time. The blade swung in a large arc, in front of him, hitting only air. The two matched glares during the wasteful maneuver. Linda had a smug grin on her face, while his looked as if it were a mix between being impressed and pure bewilderment. With an unfathomable quickness, she had backed up just enough to avoid his sword flicker trick.

_She's definitely a Sylph alright..._

His arm continued its fruitless journey. At the same time, he noticed a spectral instrument flying towards his vision from his right. Reacting with alarm, he sidestepped to the left. Too late. A trail of pain grew from his cheek as the point of the weapon grazed his skin. With her attack completed, Linda's arm pulled back. He brought his right hand to the site. Warmness painted over it.

_My head would have been there..._

Linda gave no sympathy to the swordsman's considerations as she started a manifold of attacks. A symphony of clinks and clanks emanated from the arena as Alvern parried each blow of her blade. Her sword intentionally met his on one front, whilst her claw struck from the other, forcing him to awkwardly shift his weapon. Each deflection became weaker, and Alvern soon panted for air. A faulty aversion of her blade from above introduced a mist of her saliva from her sword to his face. One of his hands released his blade to remove the foreign matter from his eyes in a panic.

He would parry with his right, and gain sight again with his left.

Or so he thought.

A potent swing of her sword caught him off guard, unable to be opposed by his weaker single right-armed interception. Unbalanced, his sword was shoved away from his body. The rest of his body was wobbly.

He was wide open.

Linda's claw swiped forward again, apparently missing him.

_This again…?_

She continued to rotate and her tail struck his chest. The momentum from her small dance was enough to send him careening towards the opposite edge of the circular arena once again. With the long distance, his back only tapped the wall. Somehow, it still felt as if he was slammed against it. He picked himself up, sword thankfully still in his hand. His feet felt like jelly, unable to find a stable foundation. It was almost as if everything became ten times heavier—even his own person. It felt as if he hadn't slept at all for his entire life.

Linda was watching.

The dragoness walked towards Alvern, tail playfully swishing behind her with each step. The two exchanged looks: One of superiority. One of dread. There was no rush to end this battle.

_She's getting closer..._

He stood there, motionless, legs still jittering. His breaths were deep. A clang reverberated through the coliseum as his sword dropped to the ground, gravity desiring it more than the grip of his own hand. He leaned down to reach for it, only to fall himself. A weak movement of his arms ensured that he would at least not get a face full of tile. It looked like he was about to fall asleep. The sound of clawed footsteps against the tiled floor delayed his comatose state. A clawed foot showed up in his upper vision and his head tilted up.

Linda was looking down at him with a smirk.

_What is this… feeling…? _The weariness took its toll on his mind.

"Alvern, you _have_ to do something!" shouted someone from above.

_That's right, I have a spectator._

"Don't just lay there!" they shouted again.

"I can't... move..." Alvern mumbled, trying to explain his predicament to his faithful student. Instead of flying to him, his voice fell flat, out of reach.

"Enjoying the feeling of my venom inside you, Alvy?" Linda crouched down to get a better look at her fallen swordsman while beaming. Her paw moved forward, pointing at the cut on his cheek. "You didn't think I'd just lick your sword for no reason, did you?"

Hidden within her watery spit was a pacifying dose of neurotoxin, ready to be introduced into his body. She must have mixed some into her saliva before licking his sword.

Linda had won the moment she got a cut on him with the blade.

...Or did she?

_I'm not finished yet!_

Surprising Linda for the second time, he vanished from below her. He appeared behind her, diagonally in the air and at full speed towards her. His sword was brought forward for the final strike, assisted by the natural guidance of the earth itself. The wind generated from his movements moved the hairs on her antennae slightly. The antennae then twitched. Her tail started to move upwards. Its tailfans spread out like a two-petaled flower, positioned near where the extrapolated position of his waist would be.

_Not this time!_

He took his right hand off the sword, and grabbed both her fans. They squirmed in his grip, but he held tight. Holding on to the end of her tail, he reached his destination. He brought his left hand and sword forward. The tip of his blade connected with the carapace on her back, ready to advance through the natural armor to do internal damage.

Her wings unfolded.

An explosion of wind forced his eyes shut, and he was blown back. He felt his back slide against the ground, and all was black momentarily.

A ringing sound invaded his ears. Alvern opened his eyes again and looked around. He was in the center of the arena. The hole she made earlier was right next to him. All was collinear: his sword was embedded in the wall behind him, and Linda was at the wall front of him.

He focused on his foe.

She was still at the edge of the arena, although now, she was facing him. Her massive forewings and hindwings were extended from behind. Her tail was bare. _Probably blew them out of the arena_, he thought. Her arms were crossed, and she still smiled.

"Didn't expect you to teleport _three_ times. But…" she stretched her arms as she yawned. "...oh well, it didn't make a difference anyways…"

The dragoness took a step forward at him.

_I have to get up, now!_

Alvern forced himself to stand up. Gravity tugged at him one-hundred times as hard now. He tried running for his weapon, and he tripped, and tripped again. It was almost as if there was an invisible rope tied around his feet. It took every ounce of willpower not to look back at Linda's position. A combination of stumbles and crawls brought him to the weapon.

A quick pull sent a few particles of debris at him. He closed his eyes. Alvern heard the sword slide out, but it too, weighed too much for him. Force's vector made him twirl in half a circle. Still blinded, he continued running forward to offset the imbalance.

His contact with a wall brought his movement to a stop.

Alvern opened his eyes and saw green. He felt around and realized that the wall was breathing. He pulled back slightly to see a flygon.

Linda was right there.

"I'll take that this hug is a sign of your surrender?" she asked, trying not to giggle at the situation.

"N—no!"

Alvern retreated backwards until his back touched a wall. His hand moved back to confirm. A _real _one. He readied a stance again, weakly holding his sword with both hands. His eyes focused forward. Linda was close to him. Her claws weren't energized anymore, and his world became darker as she extended her wings to form a barrier around him. His eyes widened as she slowly brought a paw towards his face.

It was too much.

Whether by fear or fatigue, his jellied legs could hold him up no longer. He broke his stance, and slumped downwards like a rock. His sword was still gripped in his hand, tightly as ever. Not that it'd matter. As soon as he contacted the ground, he was motionless.

"Have any more tricks up your sleeve, Alvy?" she said with a smile.

Of course, he_ didn't _have anything more to try. Linda knew she had won.

Linda swung her tail forward from underneath her and sat down on it. She pulled him towards her for a hug, smiling at the sight of her helpless prey in her clutches. Alvern didn't return it—not by choice.

She released him from her binding, causing him to slide against her chest and fall face-first into the part that connected tail to her. He felt two sword handles touch his hands. With another mental incantation, that sensation vanished. Two paws grabbed him at his shoulders to lift him up again, to eye level with his conqueror.

Her forked tongue darted at his face. Two wet tendrils greedily lapped at the wound on his cut cheek, collecting his vital fluid. The tongue then retreated back into her curled mouth. A small lump traveled down her neck as she swallowed the meager spoils of victory.

"Holding back because I'm a good person _again_?" Linda questioned him, slightly disappointed.

Alvern didn't respond, as to be expected. Her toxins ran through his body, interrupting any signals he sent to his muscles. She'd have to get an antivenom quick, lest that he suffer more than just a loss on his dueling-with-Linda record. Alvern had the foresight to carry a syringe of the cure in his satchel.

...

Linda moved Alvern into her arms. Her claws poked slightly into his cloth mail as she carried him in front of her in a pseudo-hug, his legs dangling freely. A couple of flaps of her wings brought the downed swordsman out of the ring to a frantic Marcus.

"You… you _killed _him!"

"More like _slightly _injured. Pass me that bag over there." Linda pointed to a small bag on a seat. Marcus, by fear or obedience or both, passed it over to her.

She set Alvern down, and emptied the contents of the bag next to him. A bottle fell out. Then a cloth. Then a syringe. Tearing off the cork, she poured a few drops of the bottle's liquid on the cloth. Linda brought the cloth to one of his arms, rubbing it into his skin and leaving an orange residue. She injected the contents of the syringe. Alvern took a relaxed breath.

Marcus understood, and breathed a relieved sigh as well.

"So, what's next?"

"We're done for the day." Linda said as she sniffed the air. Her antennae twitched and she looked upwards. "I suppose you're—"

"_Dismissed _for what?" A distorted portion of the air above them instantiated into a latias. The queen of Klostrun had been watching their little fight the whole time. She looked interested. "Sparring through the afternoon, without me?"

"We're done here." Linda asserted.

The insect dragon gave her a dirty look and crossed her arms. Lana playfully mimicked her unwelcoming gesture. The latias teleported next to Marcus, who darted behind Linda.

"No, you're not." The latias queen looked calm, as if she had already won the argument.

"How about this: you battle against me in a one-on-one, and regardless of whether you win or lose I won't send you a bill concerning the amount of damage you've caused to _my_ Klostrun's arena?"

Linda stood tall, appearing to be unfazed by the threat. Inside, however, a shiver of worry jolted through her spine. Her unnoticed eyes focused to the damaged arena. A giant hole tunneled through the arena's walls and looped back into its center. Hundreds of sandstone bricks were scattered about the battlefield. It would certainly take a large chunk out of the treasure hoard in the tower basement.

_Maybe I shouldn't have done that_, she thought.

"F—fine! I'll do your stupid duel. Make it quick." the flygon acquiesced.

Her foot tapped against the ground again, but not from impatience. She subtly looked at Alvern. He was frowning, seemingly having resigned himself to his fate of trekking back to her otherworldly realm to resummon her.

Lana teleported both dragons into the ruined arena, and Marcus instinctively threw another pebble into the center. Linda rushed at her opponent, aural claws extended and both pairs of wings thrashing into a blur.

... ... ...

A massive lightless sphere grew from Lana's position, threatening to swallow the entire arena. The flygon backed away from the threat, still facing the latias in preparation for any projectiles. Her torn forewings didn't help. Still quick on her feet, she reached the edge of the arena.

_About ten meters, _she estimated. _I should be_—

The sphere instantly expanded. In a panic, her hindwings flittered in an attempt to increase the distance, but she wasn't fast enough. Darkness overtook her vision. Although she was frozen in the blister in time, Lana could move freely. Thousands of claws began to rake over her body every sensible second for what seemed to be eternity.

...

_Dammit Linda_. Alvern watched the entire scene unfold.

The globe began to turn transparent. On one end of the arena he could see Lana, claws caked in blood, with a few minor cuts on her body here and there. In opposition, he saw Linda, jaws still opened in surprise to the expansion of Lana's temporal void.

She looked uninjured.

But Alvern knew what was coming up, and turned away from the arena. The sound of infinitely many claws striking carapace, and then flesh all came out at once. Tiny daggers ran through his body at the same time.

He could hear squishes and drips as the results of the slaughter fell down into the stone floor of the arena. By morbid curiosity he turned his head back to the site. Chunks of blue and purple and green were in a pile—the same mass of his flygon familiar. The heap disintegrated into ash as it phased out of existence.

_If Marcus thinks what Linda did to me was brutal, I wonder… _

Alvern peered behind his shoulder to his faithful student sitting behind him. Marcus looked overwhelmed by the violence that had just occurred. He was leaned forward on the seat, lungs heaving.

"S—she… she just…" Marcus talked between breaths. "How can she just…"

"You do know that I can bring her back, right?" Alvern reassured him. "This exact event has happened about…" He began to count with his fingers, "Five, no, six times already."

"How?"

_I finally get to talk to someone about this stuff!_ Alvern took a deep breath. "So, a summoner and his familiar are bonded by something called a _soul tether_. Whenever the familiar dies, this tether pulls them back into the host's body, ready for reanimation from an area of high summoning ener—"

A wave of fatigue coursed through his body. He plummeted to the ground, arms moving towards his face.

"Hey! Alv! Are you alright?!"

... ... ...

_Cold_.

Linda woke up in a room. She stood up, frowning as she brought a paw to her chest, rubbing at where previously were mortal wounds.

_That didn't go well, _she mused with regret.

Despite her uninjured state, her carapace still stung a little. Continuing to tend her imaginary wounds, she looked around the place. The place looked like a circular platform. Fogs and crackling flashes of light kept her from seeing anything outside of the half-globe.

If she didn't know better, she would have guessed that she was trapped inside Lana's sphere. But she'd been here more than enough times to know where she was. A white translucent barrier in the center of the room lit up the place.

_The center of the mind._ Usually she'd sleep here until he revived her, but today she felt a bit adventurous.

She strolled towards the barrier in the middle, glancing around for any changes. There were none. It'd been a while, despite her ability to visit Alvern's neural kingdom whenever she so desired. All familiars could recall themselves to their summoner's center of mind at their own discretion.

Stronger willed familiars could even possess their summoner's body temporarily, or even permanently if so truly desired. Linda did the former to get the feel of a lighter body for movement. However, said movements would tear up human muscle fibres if done too much. Her last attempt at commandeering his body for combat had sent him to the hospital. Despite this, he usually relented after a little special pleading.

At last, Linda was near the barrier. She had broken it once before, but that was during an old time she'd rather not think about. Beneath all their external quarrelling, the two had a relatively amiable relationship.

_Unlike most summoners_, Alvern sometimes reminded her.

She brought a single claw to the field and tapped on it.

It felt like glass. Inside the boundary was a figure that looked just like Alvern, except it wasn't. _A representative of who controls the body_, as she recalled her summoner's own words. His head turned to meet hers, hands still contacting the control sphere that levitated off the floor.

"Let's not forget what happened the _last_ time I gave you control..." The Alvern she could see frowned.

"It won't be like last time, I promise!" she urged with a toothy smile. "You can trust your _best_ friend of ten years, can't you, _master_?"

Alvern looked to be deep in thought and stared into the globe some more. He rubbed his back of his head, and his mouth opened slightly. All was silent for a while.

He took a deep breath.

"Well...my fear of falling doesn't help the fact that Eternity is in the sky…" Linda's lips began to curl as the barrier turned more transparent. "...and... I'm really tired." He sighed. "Just remember that I'm a human and not a flygon."

The whitish field disappeared and Linda grinned at him. He couldn't help but return the gesture.

"Oh, so you're _not_ scared when you fly with _me_?" Linda said as she approached the whitish orb. She brought her paws around it. It felt cool to the touch.

Reflected within the giant marble was his vision.

"I'd like to trust that a _fly_gon can _fly_, y'know?"

Alvern walked behind her, stepping on the large base of her tail.

_The only human whom I'll let on my back_, she thought with a smirk. _Oh! Except for... but she's—_

She brushed off the thought. There were better times to reminisce.

In sync, the dragoness lowered herself. She sensed his climb and firm grip on her neck and stood up, resuming her hold on the ball.

She couldn't help but let out a soft murmur as his arms wrapped around her. Her jaws clenched as she felt him poke his head between her antennae, which received an accidental brush with his cheek. She started to focus on the images on the globe. A pleasant warmth began to cloak her back. Alvern's eyes started to shut as he surrendered himself to sleep.

_He's a lot like her…_

_... ... ..._

"He looks fine, if you ask me," a feminine voice declared.

The summoner woke up, surrounded by a violet glow. He was being levitated by Lana's bestowment.

Lana released him, making him drop on a coliseum seat. She then teleported into the arena, scanning the battlegrounds for something.

Alvern looked at his hands, moving only his thumb and first two fingers. After some deliberation, the other two fingers began to move. His hands pushed against the platform, and he shifted himself to a sitting position. Marcus was sitting in front of him, turned around on the seat so the two would face each other.

"Any reason you two like sparring against each other?" Marcus asked.

"Helps me satiate my predatory instincts." Alvern replied. Marcus stared at him strangely. "I—I mean Linda's predatory instincts. You know, her being a flygon and all." He continued to stare. "Erm, is there something wrong, Marco—Marcus?"

"Why are your eyes purple?"

"Is there a reason why they can't be purple?" Alvern replied, ending the interrogation. His arms crossed as he stared Marcus down.

_Linda, I don't do that! _A voice cried out in his mind. Her actions had woken him up.

_It's too late now_, Linda thought back. _Speaking of things that are late…_

"Well, no, I guess?" Marcus answered, tilting his head slightly.

"I suppose we're done here. I've gotta revive Linda and do other things," The summoner declared.

"Wait! Don't leave me here with her!" he begged.

"Guess you could follow us to the tele-pad."

_Linda, you just said 'us'! Marcus probably thinks I'm crazy now..._

_I'm sure he already thinks that of you, Alvy._

Picking up the medical bag, he began to walk towards the single entrance of the coliseum. A smiling latias teleported in front of him. Her eyes were covered in an amethyst glow, which meant—

_Not gonna happen._

"Marco, close your eyes," Alvern ordered.

"My name's not—Hey!" Alvern picked him up, ignoring his response.

Linda knew the city so well she didn't even need to see to get out. A sudden burst of wind forced the trio's eyes shut. Air pushed around the two as they exited the coliseum at an incredible speed.

"Wait! You forgot your—" Lana's voice faded into the streams of wind gushing into Alvern's ears.

_It couldn't have been that important_, Linda figured. As far as she knew, she had just saved Marcus and possibly, Alvern from a night of 'servicing' Lana.

The two stopped at the teleportation pad. Both coughed and retched from the particles in the air. Alvern's haste had created a miniature sandstorm. It faded along with their ailments. Before Marcus could even comprehend what just occurred, Alvern took out a tiny chunk of brick from his tower and dropped it on the circle.

"And I thought you said you didn't care what I called you." Alvern reminded him, crossing his arms again.

"I'm pretty sure I said that to Linda. Not you."

"Well, Linda and I are basically the same person, so…"

"What?"

A bright flash interrupted Alvern, and he was back at the teleportation room of his tower. He brought a stool to the shelf in the room that housed the warping materials. Standing on the stool, he looked through the labeled containers on its highest row. The last jar held it.

_Rayquaza scales. Perfect. Just what we need._

* * *

><p><em>Zu'u praag beta etaakiik.<em>


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